


you wanna be in the show

by Merideath



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Public Display of Affection, Steve Rogers: Graduate of Natasha Romanoff’s School of Hiding in Plain Sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 16:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13391451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: Ancestry.com might have been a less risky way to trace the twins’ bio dad. But it wasn’t nearly as exciting as running around a small city in Sokovia ‘borrowing’ files.





	you wanna be in the show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dresupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dresupi/gifts).



> I am gifting this fic to ChrissiHR (she is to blame for it being written. Okay, she only posted a visual prompt.) and dresupi (because Pietro, duh ❤️).
> 
> Thank you dizzyredhead, dresupi, aenaria and hk for hand holding, pom-pom shaking, and beta reading. 
> 
> It’s so nice to have something finished and ready to post even if it’s only short. It is longer than I intended so I will take that as a positive. I need all the positive things I can get. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this, and for all the love and support you are all so very generous with. Especially when I’m the slowest writer in the world in a constant battle with my stupid brain. 
> 
> Title from ‘Everybody’s Working for the Weekend’ by Loverboy.

**Somewhere in Sokovia**

...

“She’s watching us,” Pietro whispers, into the shell of her ear. His leg is bouncing beneath the table, not quite keeping time with the music thrumming through the club. “The blonde by the bar.”

Blonde, tall, and as out of place in the club as Darcy felt. The woman is dressed in a suit that looked as if it had been stolen from Dana Scully’s closet, circa 1993. Darcy’s pulse jumps and she forces her own gaze away from the woman. “Stop looking, zombie boy,” she says.

_So much for the easy peasy lemon squeezy mission..._

_Be cool_.

Leaning forward Darcy picks up the Perník Martini she wasn’t sure she should have let Pietro order. Tucking a lock of multicolored hair behind her ear, she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a careful sip.

The drink is a little heavy on the syrup, but a sweet enough distraction to help the knot of nerves tightening in her belly. She was not made for this spy thing, not one bit. Playing I Spy while driving Erik around? Sure. But real spy stuff? Yeah, no.

But, if she was really, truly, honest with herself, and she usually was, the choking feeling of anxiety was tempered by the electric buzz of excitement sparking through her veins. And a rush of arousal that had her legs pressed primly together.

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly spying, more the borrowing of intel that the twins technically had a right to. The file hidden in a usb drive. The usb currently digging into her boob in the second most uncomfortable bra she owned. The drive contained a Sokovian Government file about the Maximoff twins, specifically information about their biological father.

She’s about ninety-nine percent certain that Steve and Pietro will keep her safe. Hopefully. Rummaging around the intranet of a defunct department of the Sokovian Government in a building, a few blocks over from the club, was probably not the best way to play tourist. Maybe only ninety-seven percent.

“What if I-,”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Piet,” Steve rumbles, taking a sip from a bottle of blackberry infused Sokovian ale. The same beer that Pietro had downed three bottles of in the first few minutes they’d been hiding.

The club is unevenly lit. Dark enough that she wishes for her glasses and maybe a flashlight, bright enough to wish for brain bleach at the near-orgy going on at a table across the dance floor. “Oh, ew.” Darcy drops her eyes to her lap, nose wrinkling up in distaste.

“Watching not your thing, _dragă_?” Pietro says.

“Depends who’s putting on the show,” Darcy replies flippantly. She scoops up her phone from the tabletop, flicking the camera on. “Selfie.”

“You’re kidding,” Steve says.

“Nope, I’m playing my part as an American tourist on a European Vacation hooking up with a grumpy hipster and tracksuited local,” Darcy says. “Now smile for the burner phone.” She arches her back to show off her assets (ha, maybe she could do this spy shit after all). The tiny black tank top she wore with ‘ **I ❤️Нови Град** ’ scrawled across her boobs barely covered the pink lace edge of the worst bra ever. Pursing her lips together Darcy snaps a few pictures. It was almost too bad the phone was a burner as she looked hot as fuck and both men looked at her as if she was crazy.

The booth they are seated at is in the darkest corner Steve could find. The thumb drive tucked beneath Darcy’s left breast feels like it’s burning a hole through her ribs. It’s not the first time she’s stolen something. The lipstick she stole from a drugstore at fourteen and the contents of her iPod were more Blackbeard’s treasure than fattening Apple’s coffers. But it felt different stealing from the office of Sokovian crime lord.

“I wonder if I can list this as Light Industrial Espionage on my resume?”

“Only if you plan to be Nat’s personal assistant,” Steve says. His arm brushes against Darcy’s.

“Do you think it pays more than babysitting Selvig in his lab?”

“How long now?” Pietro interrupts, fingers tapping impatiently on the table, not quite vibrating. Not yet anyway.

“Pietro,” Steve warns, voice snapping with authority despite the casual way he’s sitting at the table. Shoulders rounded, one arm stretched out along the back of the booth above Darcy’s shoulders.

Pietro rolls his eyes, and snags Darcy’s glass from her fingers. He downs the last of the syrupy concoction, head tilting back and Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m going to do a quick-“

“No,” Steve and Darcy hiss in unison.

“We stick with the plan. Wait here for Clint, fly home, watch your sister kick your ass for not telling her anything.”

“I hate this...doing nothing.”

“Shit,” Darcy breathes out. “Blondie’s got company.”

“I know,” Steve says. The bottom of his bottle thumps against the table and he reaches up to scratch the neatly trimmed beard covering the lower half of his face. He shifts his body turning away from the blonde woman at the bar who eyes keep travelling the room.

“Government, police, or...” Darcy says. Her voice trails off not wanting to say HYDRA’s name out loud. The thought was greasy enough in her head.

“Not the _politsiya_. They are less than useless. We go now,” Pietro says, lowering his bottle to the table with a dull thump.

“No,” Steve rumbles. He scratches his beard, eyes scan the room before turning to block Darcy’s line of sight. “Don’t draw attention.”

“My sister-“

“Can wring all our necks when we get back home safe. We will get home safe. Drink your drinks and stop looking.”

Darcy and Pietro immediately look towards the place the woman had been standing minutes before. The woman is skirting the edge of the dance floor. Sharp cheekbones lit by the copious amounts of blue neon lighting up the club.

“God damn it,” Steve says. A line of worry making an appearance between his perfect brows.

The knot in Darcy’s belly tightens and she places her hand on Pietro’s forearm. The muscles twitch beneath her fingers. “Now what?”

Steve ducks his head down and whispers three letters into the shell of Darcy ear. His breath fans over her cheek bone. The warmth of his body radiates into her. Goosebumps rise up on her arms.

“What?” Darcy says, breath hitching. The letters cycle through her head without making a lick of sense.

The tip of Steve’s nose drags across Darcy’s cheek. A shiver of anticipation skitters down Darcy’s back and she forgets about the beautiful and hellishly uncomfortable bra digging into her ribs, and the itchy wig covering her head.

Steve trails kisses down Darcy’s jaw. “Sorry,” Steve whispers into her skin as his hands fall heavily on her waist.

She’s spinning in a circle to straddle Pietro’s lap.

Darcy’s eyes widen to match the confusion written across Pietro’s face. She clutches at Pietro’s shoulders, feeling the tension in his body radiating out. Red hot embarrassment bubbles up into Darcy’s cheeks. She turns to glare at Steve. “What-“

“...to sakra,“ Pietro hisses mutinously under his breath.

“Don’t move,” Steve orders. His fingers squeeze the back of Pietro’s neck and he leans forward slotting his mouth over Pietro’s. Steve’s hand slides up and down Darcy’s back, holding her in place.

Oh. Oooh. PDA, duh.

Pietro’s hands clasp Darcy’s hips as Steve kisses him, pulling her down into his lap. The position feels awkward, with her upper body leaning back into Steve’s touch.

In all the dreams she’d had, and the fantasies shared between her and her little silver bullet vibe, she hadn’t imagined Steve and Pietro together. Her whole body feels warmer from the heat of the men’s bodies pressed so close, the hot blush rising up into her cheeks, and the sticky warmth between her thighs.

God, she was so going to the Bad Place.

Worth it.

Steve pulls back from the kiss. The tip of his tongue tracing the corner of his reddened mouth. “Kiss him,” he says. The words are low and raspy with just enough of the ‘Captain’ to make them an order.

Darcy nods, wetting her own lips and locking eyes with Pietro. It may be a trick of the light, but his eyes are dark, heavy lidded, and a smirk plays at the edge of his lips.

“Kiss me, dragă,” Pietro says. The smirk on his face widening into a flash of white teeth.

She can’t quite keep her eyes from rolling, but she still plasters herself to Pietro’s chest, sliding her hands up into the fluffy tangle of his hair and bringing their lips together.

The taste of the beer lingers on Pietro’s lips and tongue. He’s a good kisser, not too much tongue or teeth. She doesn’t want the kiss to end. A hand, she’s not sure whose, moves down over her ass and under the edge of the short skirt she’s wearing. A little moan escapes her throat and she feels Pietro smile into the kiss. “Mmm, dragă.”

Darcy pulls back from his mouth to kiss along Pietro’s cheek bone. “I’m not your honey, Piet,” she whispers into his ear. She suckles the lobe of his ear between her lips, flicks her tongue against it before sinking her teeth in. Pietro gasps, breath hot on her mouth. His hips jerk up and Darcy feels the hard length of him bump against her panties.

“Are we-,” Darcy whispers. Her words cut off by Steve’s mouth. There’s a prickly feeling at the back of her brain. Someone is watching them.

She reaches up grabbing the collar of Steve’s shirt pulling him as close as possible. The hand on her ass squeezes. Pietro’s mouths at the bare skin of Darcy’s shoulder tugging the strap of her bra and camisole top aside. Her skin feels too hot, too tight around her bones. Liquid heat pools between her thighs and she can’t help but rock her hips.

Steve pulls back from the kiss and nuzzles Pietro’s neck. “We okay?”

“Good, so good,” Darcy says.“Oh gods, not what you meant. Right.” Heat rises in her cheeks.

“I think...I think she’s gone,” Pietro says. His hands grip Darcy’s waist, encouraging the movement of her hips, eyes fluttering open and shut.

“She is,” says a very familiar and very amused voice.

“This isn’t-,”

  
“Save it. You can finish this later without an audience, unless that’s your thing, Steven,” Natasha says, collecting the empty bottles from the table onto a small round tray. “The quinjet is ready to take off. Wait five minutes then use the side exit.” She wipes a damp grey cloth over the table. “For what it’s worth, I approve.”

“Fuck,” Pietro breathes out.

“Oh my gods,” Darcy says. Her face is burning with embarrassment, her insides tying up like ribbons. “I’m gonna die.”

  
“Later,” Steve says threading his fingers through Darcy’s. His cheeks are flushed scarlet and it makes Darcy feel a little bit better.

“Later, as in my death by embarrassment later or _later_ later?”

“Later,” Steve repeats. He squeezes Darcy’s hand, eyes locking with Pietro’s. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Нови Град (Sokovian Cyrillic for Novi Grad) is it rather was the capital city of Sokovia.


End file.
